sept ten

50mm     ISO4000     f/2.8     1/160     11:49PM     9/10/17

I don't know what it is.  But being away from home for any length of time or being busy enough that only sleeping hours are spent at home creates a vacuum in my heart.  I think it was the same for my Mom.  I grew up with her saying she had to "commune with the house," or "have a home day," or "center herself" (i.e. clean the house top to bottom).

Well, I think there's something like that in my soul too.  If I'm grumpy there could be a couple causes that make no sense except that they're part of a repeating pattern.  Is Jo grumpy?  If no: Wow! That's wonderful.  And maybe she really is. . .she's just hiding it.  If yes: has she eaten?  Has she washed her hair recently?  Has she done something creative/artsy recently?  Has she journaled?  Is her space neat?  Has she sat alone or virtually alone with no requirement to speak or react recently?

These are "centering" things.  My INJF heart craves them sometimes and if I haven't had them it makes me want to be a fly on the wall, not an active participant in life.  If forced to participate (or if I force myself to participate. . .) I shall probably be grumpy.

Today the house was calling and the answer was to clean all the dishes.  My space wasn't neat and it was making my heart not so neat either.  Next will be lying in bed and staring at the ceiling in utter silence till I start to hear God.  And maybe tomorrow I'll journal.  The week is starting to look up. ;)

Thunderstorms will Continue

I have a nifty weather app on my phone that pushes notification to my lock screen.  Things like, "30% chance of rain at 3pm," "Flash flood warning from until 9pm," and "Mostly Cloudy in the afternoon." Yeah, it's handy for something, I'm sure. :)  I mostly ignore it.  But we'll get back to that.

These past couple days have been interesting.  Listening to friends' joys and troubles.  Teaching and learning skills.  Processing and diagnosing and sleeping.  And then yesterday I heard that after an involved interview process I would not be getting a job that every single person I know thought was a sure-win.  It doesn't hurt not getting the job, but it's confusing.  

I spent the last couple MONTHS praying about applying and finally doing it and mentally preparing to work in this particular field and business for years.  Years.  That's purpose.  That's direction.  That's certainty.  And now it's confusion.  Do I know anything that's certain for the next couple years?

I looked down at my phone and actually read the weather report.  It was simply: "Thunderstorms will continue." No probability or time frame, just the straight truth.  Thunderstorms will continue.  

I looked at the rejection of my application and thought, "thunder."  I looked at my garbage -- the result of days of having a runny nose and sniffled, "thunder."  I looked at my crazy schedule, filled with wonderful friends (and some of their drama) and said, "thunder."  Then I felt the cares and questions of my heart: "thunder."

Yes, the sound and distance of my thunder may change, but it will remain.  In every age there will be things I don't understand; Emotions to feel, fears to be conquered, things to get done, places to go, and trials to grow through, but there will also be the Rock of Ages.  

I've got a fortress named Jesus Christ who remains the same yesterday, today, and forever, so let the storm rage.  This, my friends, is certain -- not just for the next couple years, but into infinity and beyond.

When you realize you're 7

A (sadly) blurry photo of Ellie and I

"Mommy, I don't want him to do that."

A simple request.  One I had no clue would cut me to the heart.

I was sitting next to Ellie during our 'quiet time' soon after my arrival and observing the family routine.  (Every day possible the whole clan practices sitting quietly, singing songs, and reading scripture.  If the littles aren't aware or focused enough to worship they still must obey and play quietly.)  Little Jeff was playing on the floor, while Ellie, as the oldest sibling, was expected to sit on the chair cooperatively -- a task she usually does joyfully.

The request was made again with more urgency, "Mommy.  I really don't want him to do that.  May he please not do that?"

"Mom" has 3 other less cooperative kids to help, so Ellie is told that Mommy sees and will take care of it.  But Mom doesn't immediately stop the action.  Now starting to cry, Ellie tried again:

"Mom, I really don't want Jeff to do that with my toy.  I don't want him to!  Mom, please stop him.  He can't do that!  Please stop it!"  Now in full panic mode, things were starting to get noisy.  As an observer, I noted that Ellie had a legitimate request.  Jeff was being mischievous and rather naughty.  (dousing a teddy bear slowly and methodically with water from a bottle)  He was doing something unhealthy, if not actually truly rebellious.  So I turned to the scene unfolding between Ellie and Mom.

My urge was to stand up for Ellie, but I quickly saw that Mom wasn't just teaching Ellie about justice today, she was also teaching her about trust.  Mom gave Ellie her full attention and started talking softly to her saying "Don't worry, Mommy will take care of it.  Settle down.  Please calm yourself, I will take care of it."  The 7 year-old kept looking at the sad scene on the floor and whimpering and begging mom to stop it and do something.

Finally Mom said firmly, "Ellie, look at me.  Look Mommy in the eye.  Ellie, who is in charge? Yes, I am.  Do you believe that I will take care of it?  Settle down.  No, look at me.  Do you trust that Mommy will take care of it?  I will take care of it, so don't worry about what he is doing and calm down."

I saw the struggle.  I felt the struggle.  Every word spoken sounded like God.  I was Ellie.  I am 7. . .. begging God to stop people from doing things I don't like.  Frantically asking him to fix something and pawing at him while I just stare sadly at the problem or offending person.

Then He says he sees it.  And he'll take care of it.  But nothing happens.  "You call this taking care or it, God?  They're still doing it/It's still happening!  And I don't want it!  I don't want it!  God!"  Then, with his arms around me, trying to calm me down like Mom's were around Ellie, he says,

"Look at me.  No, look at me.  Who's in charge?  Do you trust me to take care of it?  I see the problem and I will fix it but you need to obey me and calm yourself."

I'm the frantic 7 year old who doesn't want water spilled on her bear.  It's not a huge important issue, but it is 'wrong.'  And I don't want it.  I want God to act now and fix it.  But He's got this.  And he's in charge.

As soon as Ellie was calmed down Mom tackled the task of stopping the soaking of yon stuffed animal.  She took care of it like she promised, and God will too.  Be at rest, my soul.  Cease your raging.  Rest in God.

Concerning Key Grips

Have you seen this add (below) by The New Yorker?  I don't know if it's on mainstream TV or not because I only really watch TV on dramafever.com (and yes, it's always in a Korean).  It's truly a work of art.  The visuals, sounds (or lack thereof), and even the plot draw me in every time.  Go ahead and watch it first.  Go on.  It's only 59 Seconds.

The add immediately grabbed my attention because it reminded me of me in so many ways.  This story is basically how I live everyday.  I don't know if it's an INFJ/INTJ hybrid thing or if it's a "Jo" thing, but I feel like the director understands me.  

He/she understands how even though I'm living my life I don't feel like it's really about me.  I may, like the guy in the add, be the main character, but the story isn't actually about me.  I see people.  I notice things.  Sometimes I interact.  I wonder.  I analyze.  I empathize.  I acknowledge.  Then somehow I manage to check my watch and actually live my life too.

I've actually thought before that a movie about my life would be pretty boring.  It would just be snippets from other people's movies that I was an extra in.  Maybe in one I'd have a credited role like "the best friend," but another would be "girl that held the door open," or "acquaintance that made the party fairly tolerable," or maybe "key grip."  Key grips aren't even in movies, they just help make them possible (often stabilizing cameras or holding the microphones just out of the shot)  But don't get me wrong -- this isn't a pity party!  It's just my reality.

Ever since I can remember I've been fascinated by people's stories.  Before I was old enough to actually read fiction I would just look at the pictures in books and wonder what their stories were.  There was one particular book that had a simple poem about God loving people from all over the world in it, but I "read" it because it had pictures of kids in traditional clothing from cultures all around the world.  I would make up my own stories for each of the kids in the illustrations and pick my favorite outfits.

As I got older I was either reading someone else's story in a book or acting in my own make-believe world.  I loved playing make believe so much that I often would assign members of my family roles in my imaginary world and keep playing in my head over dinner time.  Mom, I apologize for all those times I said nothing at the table -- I didn't want to break character by talking about math class or who would mow the lawn. :)  My best (you could read "only" here) friends were also the imaginative sort, so we would play together outside for hours.  We had great times, but I lived in my head so much that I was perceived as a shy/rude kid.  Looking back I probably over-dosed on fiction.

Six years ago things changed.  While I had admitted by sinful state and accepted Jesus' sacrifice on the cross in my place and thereby been "saved" from God's wrath at a very young age, I didn't fully grasp what that inward change would/should eventually look like on the outside.  At the age of 15 something clicked and I started to realize how big the world is and how long eternity is.  I saw afresh how I had been basically a zombie -- dead spiritually but walking through life, and that now I was reborn to life that has hope and purpose.  I started to see that life isn't about me because it isn't mine.

Philippians 1: 20-21ish (NLT) reads "And I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die. For to me, living means living for Christ."  My life was no longer mine.  At 15 I started to see God's heart and understand his bigger plan and purpose.  Sometimes growing up in the church makes simple things meaningless because we hear them so often.  Even important things like God loves people.  God will punish people for their sin because he is just and holy, but he loves them.  He wants them to be fulfilled, and experience the fullness of joy and happiness so he did the extreme.  He wove the thread of redemption into the story and he reaches out to you individually.  Personally.  He loves YOU.  He wants YOU.

This is what I started to realize at 15.  This is why I still love stories.  This is why people are the most important thing.  They don't just exist in books or in my imagination anymore.  They breathe, and laugh, and think, and are the main characters in their stories.  And Jesus loves them.  And everyday I have the opportunity to interact with these messy, beautiful, humans and try to see them through God's eyes.

This is why I don't mind being a key grip.  This is why I don't mind letting others take the stage.  This is why I love being in the background.  This is why I really like this add.  Yeah, it's for a magazine of some sort, but it's about the people.  It's about seeing things differently.  It's about caring.  It's about giving the gift of attention.

Take some time today to see people.  Speak life.  Be extravagant.  Let people know they're valuable.  Because they are.  YOU are.  You're priceless.

Thanksgiving with Barbie

"I love playing Barbies.  I can create so many stories with them." 

I was working to put a meal together in the kitchen when Emily came in and started telling me the virtues of playing with Barbies.  Imagination and what-not.  I was distracted, but tried to make an effort appear interested amidst my bustle.  I asked about her latest story and then continued to work.

Something about three rich girls in a palace going on a tour of the countryside  -- so far, so typical.  Where did I put that can opener down?

Then the evil tour guide abandons them in the forest and goes back to take over the palace-- Ah!  Some action.  Always a damsel in distress.  What temperature does this oven have to be again?

The bad guy starts spending their money while they have to find out how to get home with scarce resources -- Girl power!  Not the prince I was expecting.  Red bell pepper is kinda like celery, right?

I continued to listen absentmindedly till I heard the following words:  "Yeah.  See, the girls were kinda spoiled before.  Now that they're out on their own they have to help each other.  They don't have much money with them so they have to be creative.  Because they don't have much now and the bad guy is stealing their money they are learning to be thankful for the things they do have."

She ran off to wash her hands or something and I was left to ponder.  First, how awesome my little sister is to be "teaching" others to be thankful, strong, and selfless, and second, how true it is that you don't realize the good things you have until they are gone -- be it possessions, health, job, or even friends.

There are a number of things in my life right now that will not last (Transition time between school and full-time adulting).  Really good things.  This Thanksgiving I'm not going to wait till something is gone to value it.  

Like those Barbies, I may have to find creative ways to use my resources and rely on new people, but it is teaching me to really appreciate what I have.  I'm finding my way back to the palace -- creating a life -- and I'm so thankful for the things (and people) I do have.  Y'all are the bomb.

Uncharted

It's not just a new year for me, it is the end of the beginning.  2015 holds the end of my planned future.  Granted, I only planned through college, but it is still weird seeing the end of the road and not knowing what is beyond it.

For years people have been asking:  "What are you doing afterward?"  "Are you going to work?"  "What about your photography?"  "Are you going to get married?" "Where are you going to live?"  "Do you have plans?"  These questions used to bug me (especially the marriage one.  Like, how am I supposed to know?! But I digress. . .) but now I hear them and instead of panic there is curiosity.  I can look them in the eyes, smile, and just say I've been wondering the same thing! 

I love the security of school and the control of a holding pattern(my Dad was a pilot, we use a ton of Air Force and pilot jargon around here), because you exactly what you are supposed to do.  Wake up, read, write, eat, think, sleep, dream, repeat. (By the way, I dream just about every night.  It's pretty cool)  Now seeds of things I've always wanted to do are being planted in the soil of my little heart.  Just waiting for the right time to break through and open to the sun.  Things like finally finish learning Morris Code.  Cook my way through one of my cookbooks.  Leave a massive tip at a restaurant.  Become TESOL certified.  Learn ju jitsu or karate.  Road trip somewhere remote and live like and owl so I can watch the Stars all night.  Dress up and go to an Opera.  Change someone's life.  Take voice lessons.  Join the swim team again.  Volunteer at an orphanage.  Start painting again.  Finally become fluent in another language.  Flip a house.  Go for walks when it rains.  Learn how to wear makeup (yeah. . . I'm 20 and haven't really bothered with it yet. . .).  Learn how to do more than just change oil or tires on a car.  Learn how to hot-wire a car.  Stop losing things.  Learn kanji characters.  Memorize Titus.

There is an ocean of possibilities in these uncharted waters.  So 2015?  Let's do this.

"Send out your light and your truth;
let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill
and to your dwelling!
Then I will go to the altar of God,
to God my exceeding joy,
and I will praise you with the lyre,
O God, my God."

Psalm 43:3-4 (ESV)

Mending like Jesus

I realized yesterday (while sitting at my sewing machine patching some jeans) that I really like mending.  I like making the mending pile disappear, yes, but more than that, I like fixing things.  

When my sister’s favorite pair of jeans gets a tear, when a button pops off my Dad’s shirt, or my brother’s shirt needs tailoring, I love fixing it.  Whether it’s just hemming a pair of pants, or completely refashioning a dress, being able to infuse new life and usefulness into something brings me joy.

Jesus does similar things with people.  He takes broken people and fixes them.  He heals the brokenhearted. (See Psalm 147:3-5, Psalm 34:18) He restores relationships.  He tweaks and molds his sons and daughters till they are able to fulfill his purpose for them.  (Isaiah 64:8)

It looks a little silly in writing, but being able to put fabric and thread back in order is one way makes me look a little more like Jesus.  When I was mending those jeans I really felt like I was feeling God’s satisfaction in the work of restoration after him. 

As we live the Christian life, we strive to be more and more like God.  Not desiring his position, as a friend said at Bible study, but desiring his character.  When people look at us, they should see the Maker.  They should see what “Christian” actually means: little Christs.  As we grow in Christ we can’t help but look more and more like our Father.  Of taking joy in creation and restoration is part of that, then so be it.  Mend on!

The Water's Cleaner on the Side

In my daily Bible readings (daily is more on an ideal than a reality at present) I have been crawling through the old testament and most recently dwelling in 2 Kings.  This morning was a good morning, meaning I didn’t sleep in and am able to read in peace and quiet.

2 Kings 5 is like an old friend to me.  The story of Naaman and the servant girl and the leprosy and the washing and the happy ending is one of the most memorable of my childhood.  Maybe it’s the young girl in the story, maybe it’s the miracle, or may it is that Elisha’s servant Gahazi has such a fun name to say. Either way, I was looking forward to reading it quickly this morning and going away happy.  Then I came to Naaman’s response to Elisha in verses 11-12:

“But Naaman was angry and went away, saying ‘Behold, I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the LORD his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper.  Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?  Could I not wash in them and be clean?'  So he turned and went away in a rage.

I was cut to the quick.  I was shocked, because Naaman is just like me.  

At a very basic level, here we have an individual who has come to the almighty God (as a last resort) with their problem.  God shows mercy and gives simple easy instructions for how to miraculously fix the problem.  What a deal right?  Wow!  The God of the universe has given me exactly what I need to do for my well being which, I think we all can agree, he knows about best.  But what is the response?

Anger.

I heard my words in Naaman’s mouth.  “What?!  I thought that I was worth more than this.  I mean, look at who I am, look at where I come from! And while we’re on that topic, how far I’ve come!  First, I was expecting a little more decorum, like, show your face already!  And then, why are you telling me to go somewhere else and wash when I know you could just wave your wand over my problem and make it go away!  How insulting and unfair!”  Disappointment, frustration, and anger leave him puzzled and defeated, but why does he respond that way?  Why do I?  

Pride.

Go read it yourself!  Look at how he approaches God’s prophet and then responds:

-He bring silver, gold, and clothes

-He brings a letter from the King

-He comes with all his horses and chariots

-And stood at Elisha’s door (probably more like a hut) 

-He is insulted that he isn’t met personally

-He expects a fireworks-and-trumpets kind of miracle

-He says his water is much more sanitary (like seriously, I know better than you God)

But what did God want?  Simple obedience.  From where Naaman was there was a ton of humbling that had to happen for him to just simply do what he was told.

How do I come to God?  When I have a problem and I come to God for help, what is my attitude?  I can tell you exactly what it was this morning: pride.  I didn’t even realize it, but it was.  See, here’s the thing: I’m awesome.  (shocker) I grew up in a Christian home and have been saved for close to 16 years.  Because of the Holy Spirit in my life and my wholesome upbringing I was (blessedly!) kept from a lifestyle of lying, cheating, swearing, physical rebellion, drugs, promiscuity, fornication, and gossip.  I had my own sins, believe me! But I didn’t look like all the other sinners, so I got prideful.  I’m currently and active member of my local church, I’m in Bible studies and I want to see others get saved and grow.  My heart beats for ministry, I’m a pretty nice person, and, by God’s grace I’m getting better (becoming more like Jesus) all the time.  And that just the spiritual aspect.  SO. . . there’s my reputation, my family, my job, my status, my silver and gold, my horses and chariots, my letter, my background.  Don’t I deserve something special, after all? Let’s just do this my way, it will be much more pleasant.

Granted, I don’t consciously think this, but it is there.  Way. deep. down. it is there.  I’ve expected God to treat me a certain way because of me, and when He doesn’t I react the same way as Naaman.  Different words, if any, come out of my mouth, but the feeling is the same:puzzlement and frustration — the anger.  Instead of going and washing in the Jordan (whatever that looks like today.  It might be reading my Bible everyday.  It might be a long month of prayer and waiting.  It might simply be confessing my sin.) I get upset that God didn’t just snap His fingers and give me what I want.  Talk about being a Brat of a child of God!  That’s not the way a family works.

So, I was wrong.  I seem to be admitting that a lot recently.  I’m wrong.  I struggle with pride.  BIG TIME.  I can’t properly express all the different implications and applications from this piece of scripture right now, but I know this: I am just a sinner that Jesus saved.  I love Him.  He has my best interest at heart.  He will heal me(my ailment is called sin).  He loves me.  He expects obedience.  He expects me to struggle with and work through my sanctification (Philippians 2:12), but He hasn’t made it impossible.  I need to change my wrong expectations and humbly do as He says.  

Then, can I joyfully say with Naaman, “Behold, I know that there is no God in all the earth but [the LORD]. (2 Kings 5:15) 

Final Draft

Hullo.

It’s me again.

I find though, that you don’t really know who that is.  It’s been so long since I started this trifle of a blog that even if you knew me then, you’d still wouldn’t know me now.  I considered for a moment starting a new space — finding a clean slate and beginning again.  But these 550 pathetically “written and illustrated” are as much a part of who I am as my current pool of thoughts.  They made me the writer (and seamstress, if we must go there) that I am today and though they are embarrassing they are still a part of me.

Yes, that one you don’t really know.

The me that writes and journals and prays her life back into order, but rarely ever shares because she is wary of the darkness.  That darkness you see when you get on stage.  You’re nervous to perform and a little scarred because you cannot see anything but the harsh light on your retina.  But you know there are people out there.  Real people.  Unknown people.

So instead of walking on stage you stand in the wings; a speech on your lips, music in your fingers, drafts in your mind.   

As a friend so aptly put it, we have "lives composed of drafts."  Words and feelings and thoughts that are always written and never shared.  Written on our hearts, written on our hands, written in one thousand and one little notebooks. . .written on the web.  Only God knows if even this will ever be published.  It is so much easier to keep things inside sometimes.  To stay in that blessed place you may call a mind but we introverts call a home.  But what then is the point?

As beautiful as it is, this simple solitary state, there is a beauty far deeper.  There is a calling far greater.  There is a God so much bigger, and he created me to relate.  That breath he breathed into me wasn’t meant to fill a balloon.  It was a wind that is supposed to keep on moving.  To spread the good news like wild fire, to fill the sails of a child’s imagination, to  lift up the wings of the brokenhearted, to carry worship straight up to His throne.  I think I was created to be a river, not a reservoir (There I go mixing up my metaphors again).  My Dad says we’re faucets, not sponges, but that not nearly as poetic as a river.  

So if all of this is true, and sharing really is caring, then why am I living a life of drafts? Why am I afraid to let God use me?  Yes, I am incomplete.  Yes, I am a work in progress.  But if my pride will be hurt by not being perfect, is that such a price to pay for another’s blessing?  God uses broken things.  He heals the wounded, and he makes the unclean thing clean.  

So this is me.  And my final draft.

"And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”
Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar.  And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Then I said, “Here I am! Send me.”"

Isaiah 6:4-8 

Of Selfies

This is a journey.  Stick with me to the end.  Please.

I remember the days when pictures were scarce.  When every picture meant something - it held a memory and was valued either as art or as a little bit of the past that would never come back again.  I got into photography to preserve the moment.  To be places, and being there at just the right time to catch a moment and save it, to cherish it.  It was about seeing things differently, or maybe just more clearly, and showing that.  There was substance and purpose.

Then the selfie was born.  At first it was fun to see my friends as they were —  right in the moment!  Getting on the roller coaster, seeing an old friend again, discovering the best coffee they had ever tasted.  They were being raw and open in a way I hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t have unless I was right there with them.  They overflowed with genuine.  There was positive emotion all over the place; excitement, happiness, joy, and surprise.  It made sense.  I’m excited and happy about this, of course I want to share it with the world! Think about it. You finally graduate!  You get engaged!  Your baby walks for the first time!  These are things you want everyone to know, almost regardless of personal relation.

But then the tide slowly started to turn.  Here’s my new haircut! My new lip-stick, my cat, my food, my sad face, my trip to the dentist, my trip to the mall, my roommate, my new shirt, friend 1, friend 2, friend 3, my dinner, my ride, my grade, my shoes, my provocative face, my pajamas, my tongue, my bathing suit. . . There was. . .so much.  I got exasperated for a number of reasons.  

1. If I didn’t take a picture of it, it didn’t happen. I started to feel this pressure to talk about and show everything on Facebook.  Having lunch with a friend? Post to Fb! Getting a haircut? Post to Fb!  Mowing the lawn? Post to Fb. Saw a cloud that looked like an alligator? Post of Fb.  Now.  Otherwise it didn’t happen and it doesn’t matter.  Instead of taking pictures because they meant something to me and I genuinely wanted to remember how this moment felt, I had to bestow meaning on an event by taking a picture and - oh wait!  One more time, that wasn’t quite perfect … hmm. move here, put that there and . . .

2.The picture isn’t real anymore. No problem with posing people - I’m a portrait photographer.  I’ve posed the daylights out of people.  Trust me.  But a medium (selfie) that used to be the epitome of genuine and spontaneous became a search for “perfection.”  Like, that one “real” picture of a messy bun?  Yeah, I spent 20 minutes fighting with my hair and then took 30 pictures with different expressions and angles till I achieved the perfect effortless look that is so popular these days.  Talk about lying through your teeth, er, hair that is. . . phone?

3. All purpose yuck category.  Self-obsession, masks, sexting, you name it.  Granted, it’s a fallen world and every medium has been corrupted in some way.  The selfie provided an acceptable medium for being utterly self obsessed.  It also provided a channel to show everyone a false version of yourself.  I won’t get into despicable things our sex-obsessed culture has skewed the selfie to be.

My exasperation grew to disgust.  “What is wrong with my generation?!” etc.  When camera came out my insides tightened and I felt like glaring at it instead of smiling.  When people who don’t speak more than 10 words to me every time I see them run up with a camera and want a selfie with me?  Yeah, I lost even more respect for them.  I was done. 

I hated the culture of fake and unconsciously started to hate the pictures and despise the people (p.s. not the right response!).  I missed sweet, sincere, and deep and I guess I thought selfies had become the opposite of that.  Slowly that attitude spread to pictures in general and I stopped taking pictures. I’m a photographer, remember?  Photos are my medium.  They were my love, and I couldn’t even pick up my camera without dread.  I would not — could not — perpetuate this fake.  I lost the vision.  I went from photographing an event because it had meaning to seriously doubting the meaning of the event if I saw someone taking pictures.

But my friends, I was wrong!  I was right, too, but I was in a ditch.  

Last weekend I dropped everything to spend the day with a friend.  I friend who’s moving on (both literally and figuratively).  There were 4 of us.  And it was special.  Nothing super exciting happened.  In fact, it was a pretty run-of-the-mill shopping trip.  But it meant something.  The conversations we had, he relationships we built, the fears we got over, the smiles and looks without words.  I’ll remember that silly trip to IKEA and I’ll treasure it.  I can do that, because someone took selfies and pictures.  Not a million, but enough.  Pictures by Natalie. :-)

And it was then that I looked around and saw dirt around me.  I realized the ditch I had been in and took a slow step towards the road.  I was wrong guys.  And I’m sorry for being a grump.  I’m trying to come back to the middle.

I got this saying from my Dad that I’m trying to live by.  It’s simply, “Keep in the middle of the road.”  We, ok, me.  I’m talking about me. I tend to polarize.  I land in the ditches on either side of the road.  I tend to think in Black and White, even when the reality is a beautiful grey.  So my life is this constant search for the truth.  A pendulum swing between the subtle lies of the world and the even subtler lies of the church.  And by church I mean religion.  But that is a topic for another time.  Today we’re talking about selfies.

I can’t say I’ve landed right in the middles and “arrived” at balance, but I’m getting there. I’m rediscovering the beauty of a moment.  The concrete memory in a picture and the joy it can bring.  There can be sincere and there can be deep and there can be precious in a selfie. 

 And there is freedom in this truth. 

only human

God, this human needs you.

I need you.

I'll stop my raging.  Remind me who you are.

"be still, and know that I am GOD.  i will be exalted among the nations, i will be exalted in the earth!"       Psalm 46:10

3 Things

• YNAB: You Need A Budget. I know, I know, BORING! But you're so wrong. I love this program.  Especially for those paying off debt it is a fantastic resource. On top of the software, there are tons of awesome webinars and videos online about finances. Seriously.  Invest the money.  And, for college students, it is now FREE!  I wish I'd known before I bought it, but it's still worth it. :-) If you're a college student, check this out.  If you're not, use my referral link: http://ynab.refr.cc/GQ6C957 and we both get $6 off. :-) That's 10% folks! Do it.  Make your life more orderly.
• These videos of adults acting out their kids'  scripts are so funny. The first one I saw (Salesman) is still my favorite, but there are so many more. Kids are geniuses. Check it out.
• This passage of scripture. NO, DON'T SKIP IT. Read it.  I've saved the best for last. Read it slowly and let it sink in. Psalm 127:1-2

A Song of Ascents. Of Solomon.
Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
2 It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.

 The last couple days have left me emotionally and physically exhausted.  Sometimes God needs to give you way more than you can handle to teach you to give it all back to him.  You don't need to worry, you need to give it to your Savior.  Only then can he put you back together in way that is more like Jesus Christ.  I feel like the Grinch when his heart grew to three times it's size.  Blessed freedom. Thank you Jesus!  Can I get an amen?  You know it.

Longview, TX   22:39

It is hard to believe that I woke up 20 hours ago. A car ride, bus ride, plane ride, rail ride, plane ride, and a car ride later I'm sitting in bed writing a blog post.  Of all things Jo!  Go to sleep!  But here I am, and my heart is full.

In the airport today I came across a U.S. Army service man and thanked him for serving our country. The look of surprise and sincere gratitude in his eyes made my own well up with tears as I turned away.  I had forgotten how powerful a few simple words could be.  

How often do I swallow the words in my mouth instead of my pride or business? Anyone can hold back negativity, but that isn't enough.  I want to go the extra mile and say kind and true things, even to strangers.  I want to speak with purpose and I want my words to bring life to the hearers.

Sometimes

"We confuse ACTIVITY and ACCOMPLISHMENT"

 -Howard Hendricks

Sometimes we put off dishes a little longer to enjoy conversation around the table.

Sometimes we chase around the house two more times before we do our chores.

Sometimes we dance while we sweep the floor.

Sometimes we just snuggle in the rocking chair instead of starting school right away.

Sometimes we read books.

Sometimes we chase bubbles.

Sometimes we sing.

Sometimes we smile.

Sometimes we rest.

Sometimes we need to BE more than we need to DO.

Always, we trust.

Come, behold the works of the Lord,

how he has brought desolations on the earth.

 He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;

he breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

he burns the chariots with fire.

 “Be still, and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!”

 The Lord of hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress. 

                                                     Selah

Psalm 46: 8-11esv, emphasis added

The Morning Chronicles...

Reasons you should get dressed as soon as you get up

1. It helps you wake up.  Especially when you have to get up early.
2. It helps you be more productive because you feel ready to attack the world, instead of wander around online till noon.
3. It makes you feel good about yourself.  You feel put together and might even workout and eat a healthy breakfast instead of lounging all day.
4. And, certainly not least, your brothers may have friends staying the night and not bother to tell you.  When they come upstairs you are completely flustered that there is an extra and rush to get dressed.  This results in seriously flawed outfits, fashionably speaking, and multiplied awkwardness.  

One or all of these may have happened recently.   SO thankful my pajamas are halfway decent.

The end.  Get dressed.

The Remembering Flower

I fell in love last year.  No, not with a person, you silly gooses.  I fell in love with a thing.  

Well, a thing and a place, but that is another story.

While traipsing through England and France last year I acquired quite a taste for poppies.  Beautiful flowers like the one below, which rests beneath the victory statute in the American cemetery connected to Omaha beach.  Does D-Day ring any Bells?  Normandy?  (Or Normandie, if we're to be linguistically correct)

Because of the rich history or successes and failures and life in Europe there is an amazing atmosphere of reverence for the past and the people who made today possible.  It illegal to pick poppies in France because of what they represent.

The story goes like this...

Scarlet corn poppies (popaver rhoeas) grow naturally in conditions of disturbed earth throughout Western Europe. The destruction brought by the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th Century transformed bare land into fields of blood red poppies, growing around the bodies of the fallen soldiers.

In late 1914, the fields of Northern France and Flanders were once again ripped open as World War One raged through Europe's heart. Once the conflict was over the poppy was one of the only plants to grow on the otherwise barren battlefields

http://www.bbc.co.uk/remembrance/how/poppy.shtml 

While I was over there a dear friend bought me a packet of poppy seeds to bring back, but unfortunately I had to surrender them going through customs.

Not to be dissuaded, I purchased a variety pack of poppies from the Eden Brothers late in the year.  They lay dormant in my dresser drawer till this spring, when I went and broke ground and planted my own Remembrance Garden.  A little over a week later there were sprouts!  Many evening waterings and afternoon weedings later, 3 little flowers have emerged.

I love these flowers.  They easily stole first place on my flower list.  And now I can walk down to my little garden and remember.

My heart does a little flutter every time I see them out my window.  

What's your name?

I was listening to KLOVE in the car the other day and the song "Hello my name is" by Matthew West came on.  It, particularly the second half, has been stuck in my head ever since:

Hello, my name is child of the one true King 

I’ve been saved, I’ve been changed, and I have been set free 

“Amazing Grace” is the song I sing 

Hello, my name is child of the one true King 

I am no longer defined 

By all the wreckage behind 

The one who makes all things new 

Has proven it’s true 

Just take a look at my life 

What love the Father has lavished upon us 

That we should be called His children 

I am a child of the one true King

How cool would it be if when we introduced ourselves, this is what people would see!  Have you thought about that?  I'm sure you've thought about how people see you and what they think of you.  Everyone does.  Why else do you comb your hair in the morning?  Why do you walk a certain way or say certain things?  We're always self evaluating how people see us.  How do people se ME? 

I do it all.the.time.  "Instead of how do they see me?" I should be asking "do they see Jesus?"

Did they notice that my outfit is impeccable today, or did they see Jesus helping that little girl tie here shoes? 

Did they admire my earrings or did they see my eyes sparkle when I told them my little sister got saved on Saturday?

Did they complement my voice, or did they see that all the dishes were done?

Did they see your average 19 year old, or did the see a child of God?

I'm done with self.  I'm done with masks.  I'm done with facades.  

I'm saved.  I'm changed.  I'm free.  Amazing Grace is my song.

In the words of the popular Sunday school song, "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine."  When I say "Hello, my name is Joanna..." I want people to see Jesus.  I want them to see I'm different. 

I want them to see a child of the one true King.

"Do all things without grumbling or disputing, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain."

Philippians 2:14-16

Live Your Summer

Summer.

The memories of days spent sewing and creating; the soft breeze that flows over the lake; the rustling of leaves; the thunderstorms; the gentle rain and the smell of cut grass; the books devoured on the swing or picnic blanket or couch under a fan; the meetings with friends; the crazy adventures to water parks; the grilled meals eaten on the deck; the mosquitos and fireflies; the dancing in the back yard at twilight when no one is around; the singing of merry songs; the exhaustion after a competitive sport; the sweat and laughter; the heat that emanates from sunburned arms and face; the sweet taste of lemonade; the sun floating through the tress; the girls in bright colors; the flowers that grow; the laundry on the line; the light blue sky; the harsh shadows; the meeting of new friends; the reunions with family; the anticipation of tomorrow, these are things I remember about summer.

It's hard for me to let go of things like this.  I savor those moments when I can remember exactly what something was like.  The taste, the feel, the smell, the sound, and the look bring me straight back and I remember.

This summer is different. I can no longer fly on a whim or pick up and just go.  This summer,

• I'm in school. 1 Test every 2 weeks, or at least that's the plan.  Every minute should be spent productively.
• I'm working.  I have to be places at a certain time and be engaged.

Because this is my life for the next couple years I've been struggling with burnout.  I study, study, study , and do, do, do but never get anywhere and am never finished.  I live in the past with my memories or I live in the future with my plans.  This is no life.

But guess what guys!  I'm learning to live.

I know, I know, eat, drink, sleep and you'll live.  But it's so much more.  I'm not living for tomorrow anymore.  Sure, I make plans and I have goals and trips I'm looking forward to but I'm not living for them.  I'm living now.  It has been a crazy journey to come to this point and I'm not sure I've completely arrived but God has been changing me little by little.  He's showing me what really matters.  Of course I "knew" before, but this is so different.  It's part of my being now.  I can't escape it.  It isn't locked away in my brain anymore but starting to flow through my hands and feet.  How cool is it to watch God work; to change a sinner like me?!  It's crazy folks.

My calendar is chalk full of activities and deadlines and get-togethers, but I can truly say with Martin Luther that “There are two days in my calendar: This day and that Day.”  I want to live like there's no tomorrow.  I want to invest in people now.  Jim Elliot said "Wherever you are, be all there."  That quote has changed my life in so many practical ways.

That Day (rapture/eternity) is coming, and I don't have time to not slow down.  I don't have time to not take the time to love someone. Does that make sense?  When I realized that I almost fell over.

Life is beautiful guys.  Life is fleeting.  Life is busy.

Sometimes, you've just got to be still.

Be still and know that He is God!

Then get off that couch and go change your world!

Right about... NOW.   Yup, now is the time.

Go MAD! (Make a Difference)

For My Mom

Dear Mom,

For all the late nights, tears, headaches, aches, & pains;

I thank you.

For all the songs, stories, rhythms, encouragements & books read aloud;

I thank you.

For all the dances, hugs, back-rubs, massages, ring-around-the-rosies, tickles, & tumbles;

I thank you.

For all the homework helps, smiley faces, challenges, successes & book-learning;

I thank you.

For all the favorite meals, snacks, & bandaids on my boo-boos (or stitches my face);

I thank you.

For all the craft skills, tea parties & dress-up clothes;

I thank you.

For your honesty and openness, not only of your home but of your heart; for loving my Daddy and showing my what a godly marriage looks like; for your quickness to forgive and ask forgiveness, for your spontaneity; for your grace; for your passion; for being a doer; for being a try-er; for falling down and picking yourself right back up; for always believing in me;

Mom, you're the best

No, seriously.  You're the coolest Mom in the history of moms.

Even when you fail at using pop slang the right way or sing at the top of your lungs in the middle of the grocery store parking lot.

Even though I haven't told you everyday or even every week or month I can start now:

I love you!

I love you mum, and I hope one day I can be as awesome of a mom as you are.

Thank you for not giving up.

Thanks for being mine.

Unadulterated Life

"Life is the messy bits."

There was an article floating around about not instagramming your "perfect life."  People put their best foot forward on the web.  It just happens.  In a sense it should happen because nobody wants to read you complaining about your horrible life, but no one wants to try to live up to your perfect life either.

Well, I'm not sure how I appear on the internet because only you can tell me that.  We do not live spotless lives around here.  There are a lot of mistakes and a lot of stepped on toes and a lot of grace.  GRACE.  What a lovely sound.  

We're just sinners, saved by grace.  To make my point, I thought I'd practice my freelensing and show you what our house is like today because, hehe, yeah, it was a BIG mess today.  Among other things we've replaced both our broken stove and our old fridge.  These installations took more time and effort than we anticipated and no one has energy to clean after a job is finished at 11pm.

Our old, and new, fridges!  Quite obviously still in construction. :-)  Look at that missing drawer!

Old broken electrical stove, and new gas stove!  Still getting used to the way it cooks...

There are books, scissors, glue and miscellaneous craft materials all over the living room floor from last minute project boards for school.

Furniture was moved quickly out of the way for the appliances and is left wherever is landed.

There are crumbs left from baking adventures...

and dry goods strewn all over the dining-room table, just waiting to be relocated.

There are dishes left undone.

So just in case you thought we had it all together... we don't always.  And that is ok.